


Asset Validation

by FlyingMachine



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Not actually crack, a chain of ficlets, and the people who love it, several stories about Ben's butt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 06:40:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4253226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyingMachine/pseuds/FlyingMachine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Turn kink meme. </p><p>Prompt: Thoughts about Ben's amazing butt. Basically all the characters' thoughts as they watch Ben walk away.</p><p>Several short stories about Ben's butt and its admirers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Asset Validation

I.  
The Dragoon brat runs, escaping with Welsh’s coat and bonnet. Rogers takes his shot and the lad goes down hard, blood darkening the green of his stolen coat. A moment later, he’s up again, running fast, clutching his injured shoulder. Rogers boils over with rage. 

“Run him boys!” he shouts, and his Rangers obey. Despite his injury, the whelp is fast, and clearly knows the woods. Rogers’ men are exhausted from battle and dusk is falling. The Dragoon disappears over a rise and Rogers calls off his men. His sergeant stands at his shoulder.

“The lad won’t get far wounded like that. We could still catch him, sir,” he says.

“Let him go,” Rogers replies. “The boy killed one of ours. He deserves a better fucking than a shot in the back. I’m going to make that sweet pretty arse of his suffer.”

 

II.  
It takes all of Abraham’s willpower not to bury his face in Ben’s shoulder and weep as he embraces his old friend. Ben is his savior, come to rescue him from the brutal treatment of his captors. Ben is warm and solid against him, smelling faintly of soap and wool. 

“Look at you,” Abe breathes, holding Ben by the shoulders to admire his uniform. 

“I have the pardon for your release, Abe. But I need you to cooperate,” Ben says. Abe’s heart sinks. Ben isn’t here out of loyalty to an old friend. Abe understands what Ben offers: his freedom in exchange for information. Abe hesitates, he does not want to be involved in this war. Fighting is for other men. 

One of those men is standing in his cell, a friend Abe has known all his life.

“I won’t name names,” Abe says. “No one deserves to be thrown in this hell.” Ben steps closer and Abe is struck by how blue his eyes are in the dim light. He’s always been handsome, but having all of Ben’s quiet intensity turned on him makes Abe a little weak in the knees. His pulse throbs in his ears. He slumps against the wall, his resolve vanishing. He can trust Ben, Ben will keep him safe. 

He accepts Ben’s offer. A little information in exchange for his freedom to return to his family is a small price, after all. The letter of parole sits heavily in his pocket. Abe watches Ben climb the ladder out of the cellar, admiring the way his breeches stretch tight over the muscular curve of his backside. Abe shakes himself, not wishing to examine his motivation for cooperating too closely.

He follows Ben up the ladder, wondering what the hell he’s agreed to do.

 

III.  
Simcoe doesn’t really mind the torture. Brewster is inelegant, easy to anger and quick to indulge his rage. Simcoe enjoys provoking him again and again. 

Tallmadge is a different story. He has a long, slow fuse and seems indifferent to Simcoe’s taunts. Brewster would do well to take a lesson from him. Simcoe wonders what it would take to get a rise out of the young captain. Brewster’s fist slams into his wounded thigh and Simcoe howls, mostly because Brewster expects him to. The wound does hurt, but Simcoe has had enough rum and wine to dull the pain considerably. He’s mostly yelling to egg Brewster on. Tallmadge watches over Brewster’s shoulder, impassive.

Brewster’s beating is growing tiresome and Simcoe distracts himself by thinking about what it would take to break Tallmadge. He’d start with the whip, perhaps. Did the Continentals flog their men? It was practically a rite of passage in the Queen’s army. Simcoe’s first flogging had been an enlightening experience.

Tallmadge makes another round of the cell and Simcoe eyes his backside, mostly hidden under his coat. Simcoe always enjoyed giving a flogging, nothing like having another man under his complete control while he hurt him, reducing him to a bloody mess.

Simcoe imagined Tallmadge lashed to the post, stripped of the blue and gold uniform he wore so well. He’d strike that pert bottom first, leaving stripes Tallmadge wouldn’t be able to sit on for a week. Perhaps he’d let the whip cut deeper, so that Tallmadge would have scars to remember him by. Simcoe was half-hard at the thought. Brewster slaps him, blood spraying from his cut-up lips. 

“Getting off on this, are you? I figured as much,” Brewster says. He glances down to Simcoe’s groin, to the bulge in his trousers. “You’re a disgusting wretch. No wonder the army wanted you.”

“The army needs men like me, to put men like you back where they belong,” Simcoe replies, enjoying the way Brewster goes red with rage. He inclines his head toward Tallmadge. “Is he sweet on you, is that why he’s letting you do this to me? He knows better, that’s why he’s standing in that corner instead of having his turn.” Simcoe grins at Brewster. “Do you make him sorry if you don’t get your way? Does he lay down for you? I’d make him bend over for me, with an arse like that.” He lets his eyes roam over Tallmadge in an open leer, making sure Brewster sees. “Maybe I will, later.” In the corner of his eye he sees Tallmadge stiffen, a hand going to his sword. 

Brewster’s temper snaps, and he hits Simcoe over and over until Simcoe can’t see straight, blood pouring from his nose and mouth. Heavy boots thump over their heads. The cellar grating opens and Brewster freezes. Simcoe grins, blood running down his chin.

“We’ll have to finish our conversation another time, Lieutenant. I do believe you’ve just been caught torturing a prisoner.”

 

IV.  
Army life cures a man of shyness quickly. Caleb has seen Ben naked more times than he’s bothered to keep track of. This time is no different, except that Ben is unconscious and soaked through after his tumble into the Delaware. Caleb curses Ben’s dead weight as he wrestles him out of his heavy coat, boots and breeches, revealing his pale, round backside and long legs. Out of his uniform, Ben seems slighter and more vulnerable than he usually does, an appearance not helped by the bluish tinge to his skin.

Ben isn’t even shivering, and Caleb knows that is a bad sign. Caleb piles Ben’s clothes in front of the fire and wraps him in borrowed blankets, hoping he can get his friend warmed in time. He’d seen men die this way after falling out of whaleboats, drifting into eternal frozen sleep.

He places a hand on Ben’s chest, feeling his ribs expand with shallow inhalations. 

“Come on Benny,” he says, hoping Ben can hear him. Ben coughs wetly but doesn’t wake. Water dribbles from the corner of his mouth. 

“Fuck,” Caleb swears. “Don’t you die on me, you dumb bastard,” he orders, slapping Ben’s cold cheek. Ben’s long eyelashes flutter and he stares up at Caleb, struggling to focus. 

“There you go,” Caleb says, feeling a measure of relief. Ben’s chest heaves under Caleb’s hand as he coughs up the water he’d swallowed. Caleb turns him onto his side and holds him up so he won’t choke. Ben collapses back into the pile of blankets and Caleb pulls them closed over his chest.

“Just lie there and warm up,” he says, rising to throw more wood on the fire. Ben is shivering now, which is a good sign, but Caleb knows he isn’t out of danger. The fire and blankets aren’t enough, not with the temperature well below freezing. Caleb pulls off his boots and strips out of his clothes, leaving only his wool socks and mittens. 

He slides under Ben’s blankets and pulls Ben close, arms tight around his waist. Ben’s skin is icy and clammy all along his chest and thighs, and Caleb shivers. It’s a bit awkward since Ben is taller, but he immediately curls up against Caleb’s warmth, shaking violently enough to rattle both their teeth. He coughs into Caleb’s shoulder but makes no objection to Caleb’s closeness.

“Too bad you’ll sleep through this, Tall-boy,” Caleb teases, tucking Ben’s head under his chin and pulling the blankets around them both. 

“It’s n-n-nothing t-to write home ab-bout,” Ben whispers, so quiet that Caleb wouldn’t have heard him if he hadn’t been pressed against him. Caleb gives Ben a brief squeeze.

“You want to freeze to death or not?” Caleb asks, only half joking. Ben doesn’t reply, already asleep again. Caleb is exhausted as well, and despite his best efforts to stay awake and keep watch, he falls asleep quickly.

When Caleb wakes again it is dusk. The fire has burned low and needs tending, but Caleb is warm and comfortable under the pile of blankets. Ben is still curled against his chest and shifts a little, staying close to Caleb’s warmth. Caleb’s realizes that while he slept his left hand had come to rest on Ben’s right buttock. Ben doesn’t seem to mind. Caleb smooths his thumb over the curve of Ben’s hip, taking comfort in the solid weight of Ben against him, alive and breathing. 

“Hey,” Caleb says, giving Ben a nudge. “You awake?”

“Is the war over?” Ben mumbles. Caleb chuckles. 

“Yeah, you slept through it,” Caleb says. Ben starts, trying to sit up. Caleb holds him in place with the hand on his backside. A slow, hot flush creeps up Ben’s cheeks as he looks down at Caleb’s naked chest and then his own. 

“Don’t worry, your virtue’s still intact, Tallmadge. Tempting as it was with you all wet and frozen, I managed to restrain myself,” Caleb says dryly. Caleb pats Ben’s ass and extricates himself from the blankets, standing naked in the cold except for his thick socks. He reaches for his trousers and Ben burrows back down into the blankets, coughing. 

“It’s the best way to warm a man who’s that chilled,” Caleb says more seriously as he dresses. “If you don’t do it nice and gradual they get a shock and die. I’ve seen it happen.” He notices Ben is shivering again without Caleb keeping him warm. 

Caleb grabs Ben’s coat and spreads it over him. Warm from the fire, it is enough to ease Ben’s chill. Caleb pats his shoulder.

“I’m going to find us some supper, Benny-boy. You just lay here and keep your fine ass away from the river, because I’m not hauling it out again.”

 

V.  
Benjamin Tallmadge is limping when he enters Sackett’s hut. Sackett frowns, noting his stiff posture, the bruises along his cheekbone and the scrapes on his knuckles. He looks tired and tense as warms his hands over the brazier. The young major has been struggling lately as he tries to obtain information from New York per Washington’s orders. Sackett had heard rumors of a quarrel in the camp the night before that had come to blows.

“Good day, Major,” Sackett greets him. Ben smiles a little and winces as it pulls at his bruises. Sackett stands and stretches, stiff from hours of writing. He joins Ben at the fire, wondering if he can improve his young friend’s mood.

“I’ve managed to create our own reagent for use with the invisible ink,” he says. “It’s a time consuming process but it will be enough to send some to your man in New York.” Ben brightens a little.

“That’s good news,” Ben says. “It will have to be delivered in person, of course.” Sackett nods.

“Of course. I have just the right person in mind,” he says, looking at Ben. Perhaps a visit to his friends in Setauket would cheer him and give him a small rest from the pressure of his responsibilities.

“We’ll need to gather a few more things before you can make the delivery, but we should be ready in a few weeks,” Sackett says. “In the meantime, I’ll take a look at those bruises of yours. I think I have something that might help.”

“You’re not a doctor,” Ben says, absently rubbing at his backside at the mention of bruises. 

“True, but when conducting chemical experiments in search of new methods of encryption, one occasionally accidentally creates a most excellent salve. It seemed wasteful to simply throw it away,” Sackett says. He pulls a flask from his cabinet and uncorks it. The scent makes Ben’s eyes water. Ben scoops a little of the salve onto his finger and rubs it into his bruised, split knuckles. 

“Mr. Sackett, you’re a miracle worker,” Ben says as the medicine soothes the ache. Sackett smiles, glad that his failed experiments could be of some use after all.

“Next time that bastard Bradford goads you into a fight, use your brain instead of your fists, Major,” Sackett admonishes gently. Ben seems unsurprised that Sackett knew about the altercation.

“Yes, I know,” Ben says. “I wasn’t even that angry until he tossed me onto my arse into the fire pit.” He sighs, and Sackett knows he is ashamed at his loss of composure. Sackett chuckles and pats his shoulder.

“I can’t blame you for hitting him after that,” he agrees. “Go and tend your bruises, and then I’ll show you what I have for you to take to New York.”

 

VI.  
Anna Strong barely recognizes Ben when they meet in Abe’s cellar. He’s filthy and dressed in plain clothes instead of his Continental blue. She hugs him anyway and enjoys his blush when she kisses his cheek, delighted to see him despite his rough appearance. She’s always been a little in love with him-- Abe and Caleb had teased her about it for years. Anna doesn’t mind keeping her unrequited feelings to herself, especially since she knows they would not be returned.

Ben is wholly occupied with his responsibilities for Washington, and his visit to Setauket is not a social call. Ben and Abe are bent over Abe’s workbench and Anna watches as Ben demonstrates an invisible ink that will allow them to send more secure messages. Ben is excited, talking so quickly that Anna can barely follow him. His heavy coat has fallen to one side, revealing his riding leathers. A leaf is stuck just below his left hip, clinging to his backside. Anna reaches for it before she realizes what she’s doing. 

She brushes the leaf away, fingers smoothing over the soft leather of Ben’s trousers, warm from the heat of his body. His arse is firm under his trousers, and Anna pulls her hand away before she gives into the temptation to give it a squeeze. She absently wonders how he would feel pressed against her, if he would lose some of his reserve if she dug her fingers into him just there... Heat rises to her cheeks at the thought and Ben startles at her touch. 

“You had a leaf,” Anna says, recovering her composure quickly and hoping the dim light hides her flush. She grins at him, holding up the leaf as evidence.

“That’s Abe’s fault,” Ben says. “I waited for him to check the dead drop for three days, sleeping under a tree.” His hair is falling into his eyes, but Anna thinks he’s blushing.

Anna tucks the leaf into her pocket and when she looks up again, Abe is smirking at her over Ben’s shoulder.

 

VII.  
Bradford dislikes Tallmadge on both a personal and professional level. The little shit is nose deep in Washington’s arse, working on whatever special assignment the general has given him. Whatever it is, it isn’t going to win them the war. That task will be done by men of action, not spies skulking in the shadows.

Lee had told Bradford about Tallmadge, how he’d sold him down the river a year ago and the bastard had somehow escaped Robert Rogers. The boy was a thorn in Lee’s side, and in Bradford’s. 

Tallmadge’s sudden alliance has come as a surprise. Bradford isn’t entirely sure he can trust him, but it’s satisfying knowing that Tallmadge will be under his direct command. Besides, if things went poorly, Tallmadge could always meet an honorable death in battle. Bradford would ensure that Tallmadge’s regiment was first in line to meet the regulars.

Bradford watches as Tallmadge exits their war room, coat-tails swaying behind him. Bradford cannot stand Benjamin Tallmadge, but he has to admit to himself that the man certainly has one of the finest asses in the army.

 

VIII.  
Washington is proud of Benjamin Tallmadge. Despite his missteps, the young officer has saved his life, and exposed the traitors within their ranks. Tallmadge’s chain of agents is a success, and Washington is pleased that their little idea had grown into something so vital to their cause.

He notices how Tallmadge stands a little straighter under his sincere expression of gratitude, and wonders if he has not been too hard on the boy the past months. Valley Forge has tested them all. 

Tallmadge ducks out of his tent and Washington watches him go. 

“Major Tallmadge is a fine officer, sir,” William says at his elbow.

“Indeed he is, William,” Washington replies. “A very fine officer, and a great asset to our cause.”

**Author's Note:**

> In intelligence use, asset validation is the process used to determine asset (agent) authenticity. Ben is technically not an asset, he’s an agent handler or case officer, but I really needed to make an asset pun, please forgive me.
> 
> The CDC recommends skin-to-skin contact to gradually warm a person suffering from hypothermia if no other methods of warming are available.


End file.
